


Fireworks

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Fire, Hurt/Comfort, Law Enforcement, M/M, Magical Tattoos, POV Peter Hale, Pack Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-24 15:52:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13217046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: “Captain, really.  I’m not a babysitter!” Peter choose what he perceived to be the least egregious issue with his supposed partner; there was no need to get on Argent’s bad side right off the bat seeing as his captain was a human himself.Argent narrowed his eyes, lips pulled in a tight line.  These were all signs of an impending explosion.  It didn’t happen often—the captain was a very even keeled individual—but when it did it was like fireworks painting the sky.In his youth Peter had liked fireworks, with their brilliant colors splashed across the dark canvas of night, so he didn’t heed the warning signs.  “Not to mention he doesn’t fit the parameters for our one-of-a-kind unit.”  There.  He’d brought the primary issue out into the open.  Peter wasn’t speciesist but having a lone human amongst five werewolves was begging for trouble.“I think what he’s tip-toeing around, Cap, is the fact that I’m human,” the kid piped up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're down to the last two hurt/comfort bingo prompts on my card and this story features fire as the prompt. This was perhaps the easiest story to write--everything came together pretty easily--and it kept me amused.
> 
> If you think my tags need updating please let me know. I gave this a Mature rating due to language, sexy thoughts and some violence.

“Hale, meet your new partner,” Captain Argent rasped from behind his desk, motioning Peter inside the office. “Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski.”

 _What the fuck?_ Peter had worked, successfully he would like to add, without a partner for the last three months. This was ludicrous. 

Peter turned toward the other occupant in the room and goggled at the young man who unfolded himself from the uncomfortable hard backed chair and faced him. 

The kid—Peter couldn’t delude himself into thinking the other guy was a fellow officer—was about Peter’s height with a seemingly toned body although it was difficult to tell as it was covered in the unremarkable navy uniform the department foisted upon them. He had a cute face with high cheekbones and upturned nose, dark short messy hair just within the bounds of the department dictated length and bourbon colored eyes that seemed to laugh at the world. Or maybe he was just laughing at Peter. Taken as a whole he more closely resembled someone Peter would pick up at a club for a night of fun than work cases with on the Fugitive Warrant Squad.

Peter took a deep breath to center himself. Huh. Along with his youthful appearance replete with smart-assed smile the kid had another black mark going for him…he was human. Peter’s nose didn’t lie.

“Captain, really. I’m not a babysitter!” Peter choose what he perceived to be the least egregious issue with his supposed partner; there was no need to get on Argent’s bad side right off the bat seeing as his captain was a human himself.

Argent narrowed his eyes, lips pulled in a tight line. These were all signs of an impending explosion. It didn’t happen often—the captain was a very even keeled individual—but when it did it was like fireworks painting the sky. 

In his youth Peter had liked fireworks, with their brilliant colors splashed across the dark canvas of night, so he didn’t heed the warning signs. “Not to mention he doesn’t fit the parameters for our one-of-a-kind unit.” There. He’d brought the primary issue out into the open. Peter wasn’t speciesist but having a lone human amongst five werewolves was begging for trouble.

“I think what he’s tip-toeing around, Cap, is the fact that I’m human,” the kid piped up. The voice was quite deep so perhaps he was older than he looked.

“Shut it, Stiles. You’re not helping,” Argent chided the child. It lacked heat though which made Peter think the captain had a soft spot for the human.

Peter opened his mouth to add his own thoughts but he remained silent when Argent turned his attention to him and scowled. “No more of this lone wolf crap, Hale. Stilinski recorded some of the highest test scores I’ve seen in a long time, he’s well versed in shifter lifestyle and quite frankly I trust his judgment more when it comes to evaluating high risk situations than I do yours.” 

Instead of fireworks Peter was treated to the cold, no nonsense manner Argent was known for in the department; of course he wasn’t supposed to use it on one of his own men. 

This was achieving him nothing. It would be smart for Peter to back off and regroup. He pivoted sharply but before Peter exited the office, Argent delivered the coup de gras. “You will have a partner or you will be out of the unit. Those are your only options. Dismissed.”

Peter did not stomp to his desk but it was a near thing. Ennis Patrick and Kali Terrell observed him from where they sprawled at their own desks while Garrett Douglas and Lucas Kincaid looked on from where they lounged against the wall just beyond then.

“So what did you think of Bambi?” Douglas offered up with a smirk. He was Peter’s least favorite team member but they didn’t spend much time together and when they did, Kincaid was there to keep the blond in line. He always addressed those partners, at least in his head, by their last names even though he got along so well with the taller man with the closely shaven head.

Kincaid delivered a sharp elbow to Douglas’s ribs; it couldn’t possibly cause any damage to the Löwenmench but it served as a reminder to tone it down.

“Awww, Bambi. I think that’s very fitting. Big brown eyes…long, shaky looking legs…fucking adorable,” Kali gushed. Peter couldn’t tell if she was just yanking his chain or if she had actually taken a shine to the youngster.

Ennis frowned darkly; it was no secret he had feelings for his partner and he seemed to dislike Kali referring to any male adults as adorable.

Kali was so likeable and Ennis always fell in with her plans that it was easy to think of the partners by their first names. 

No one had ever mentioned the odd dynamic and so far, as long as Kincaid kept Douglas on a tight leash, it worked.

“Yes. Quite. Let’s hope he breaks one of those long, shaky looking legs,” Peter growled as he threw himself into his chair.

“What good would that do? He’d heal up in no time,” Kincaid interjected.

So the rest of the team didn’t have all of the facts. “Actually, no, he wouldn’t. He’s human,” Peter groaned.

Swiveling so he could more easily view the team’s reactions, Peter wasn’t disappointed. 

Kincaid’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. 

Ennis crinkled his nose.

Kali’s eyebrow shot up; she looked intrigued.

Douglas’s blue eyes pulsed; the wolf/lion hybrid looked downright predatory.

What had Argent called the boy? That’s right—Stilinski. The name seemed familiar but Peter would find out more information on his temporary partner later.

One thing Peter could say without hesitation: Mr. Stilinski had best watch himself around the team, especially Douglas…wolves and lions were known to eat deer on occasion and Argent had just added Bambi to the menu.

-0-

Captain Argent’s door was closed and that meant the soundproofing was in effect. Peter stared balefully at it, wondering what new surprises were in store for him today. At least Bambi was nowhere in the vicinity.

Before Peter could claim his chair, Argent’s door cracked open. “Hale, could you please step in here?”

It was an order couched as a question and Peter dutifully fell in line, detouring to his immediate supervisor’s office.

“Close the door,” Argent rumbled from behind his desk. “Have a seat.”

Bambi was already present, and seated, and he gave Peter a cordial nod. So much for Bambi being nowhere in the vicinity.

Before Peter could say anything, even good morning, his captain began speaking. “Today you and Stiles are going to execute a warrant on one Joe Smith. Rumor has it that Mr. Smith has been hanging out around Castro Street. Oh, and he likes bourbon.”

“You mean he hangs out at _Healthy Spirits_?” Bambi asked in that hoarse, deep voice of his. 

Both Peter and Argent looked at Bambi. The captain cleared his throat. “Is that the whiskey joint down there?”

“Yep,” the kid had the audacity to pop his p. “Lots of supers like it there because they’ll serve their drinks infused with other things to help them get drunk.”

“That fits,” Argent scratched the scruff on his chin. “Meet Joe Smith,” he handed each of them a mug shot with Mr. Smith’s pertinent statistics. He was six-foot-three and weighed in at 250 pounds with dark hair and dark eyes, at least when he wasn’t shifted. Their fugitive was definitely a shifter as evidenced by the feral flash in his eyes captured by the camera.

“You can pick the warrant up at the front desk,” the captain announced. He turned to the rookie. “Stiles, you’re dismissed. Peter will collect you from the locker room. Make sure your tactical vest is secured correctly.”

“Yes, sir.” Bambi rose to his feet. Under his breath he was grumbling about the wardrobe malfunction he’d suffered one time, just one time, and the captain never let him forget it.

Peter suppressed the smile trying to emerge across his face; every rookie, Peter included, had suffered an issue with their tactical vest. Those things were cumbersome as hell. 

After the door closed Peter’s attention returned to his commanding officer who was smiling, fondly.

“I expect you to execute the warrant by the book, show Stiles the ropes,” he clarified.

Peter crinkled his nose but this wasn’t an argument he was going to win, at least not until Bambi made some mistakes. “Yes, sir.”

“As senior FO I’m also charging you with bringing Stiles back safely,” Argent continued.

Opening his mouth to argue, Argent stopped him cold. “I’m not kidding, Hale. It’s your job to mentor the new member of the team. If anything happens to that kid, it’s on your head. Dismissed.”

Climbing to his feet, Peter snapped off a two-finger salute that another commanding officer would’ve taken issue with before he left the office. This time he gave in to his urge to stomp and headed into the basement to the locker room.

Bambi’s back was to the door—apparently the kid had absolutely zero self-preservation skills because he should’ve known better than to turn his back on possible predators—and he was cinching the tactical vest over his blue dress shirt so it fit properly.

“You’re going to ruin your good clothing if you wear it on assignment,” Peter drawled, admiring the wide shoulders and trim waist.

Stiles spun around, frowning. “Captain Argent said I had to dress professional at all times.”

“Well, Captain Argent hasn’t served a warrant in the field in a long time. Keep a stash of short and long-sleeved t-shirts in your locker so you can change into them when we’re heading out on warrant duty.” There, Peter had properly dispensed some advice.

“Thanks,” Bambi replied, his lips quirking into a smile. Peter could tell he was itching to ask more questions but he locked them down, instead checking his equipment.

Peter changed out of his dress shirt and into a gray long-sleeved t-shirt, climbing into his tactical vest without giving any thought to what he was doing. He’d literally been out on hundreds of warrant assignments and he was convinced he could do them in his sleep if needed.

Except not today. He needed to make sure Bambi returned in the same condition upon return as when they started.

“Come on, let’s pick up the warrant and head out,” Peter ordered. He was the senior FO and he was going to take charge. When Bambi’s head snapped up and he met Peter’s eyes, Peter wanted to take charge of other things, too.

It was never a good idea to sleep with co-workers. Especially when you weren’t even certain they’d live long enough to get off of probation.

Peter pointed Bambi to the desk where they’re paper awaited them. “I’m going to pull the Batmobile around front.”

“The Batmobile?” Bambi’s nose crinkled in confusion. Upon closer inspection Peter could see freckles. And moles. The kid—wait, no, he was an officer—had beauty marks dotted across his skin. Fucking adorable.

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Peter replied as he headed for the garage, pushing down his insane thoughts. So what if his temporary partner was pretty. They had a job to do.

The Batmobile was a rebuilt black Chevy Corvette with a body from 1980 that was sleek and sexy, replete with tailfins. It wasn’t the best vehicle for transporting a fugitive, and it certainly wasn’t low profile, but Peter figured he deserved some sort of reward today.

It didn’t take long before he was idling in front of the Mission Station.

Bambi emerged into the weak sunlight, shoving his polarized Oakley’s on to the bridge of his nose. Yeah, his temporary partner was definitely a looker. He was also definitely off limits although Peter’s wolf wasn’t buying into that mode of thought.

Peter sighed as Bambi climbed into the passenger seat. It was low slung but there was plenty of legroom. “Sweet ride. Isn’t it a little high profile though?” the kid asked as he patted the dashboard lovingly.

“You worry about not getting yourself killed and let me worry about everything else,” Peter responded. He decided 16th Street would be the easiest route and he merged into traffic, which was, as usual, heavy.

“So if this is the Batmobile, does that make you Bruce Wayne?” the younger man needled.

“Yes, you’ve discovered my secret. Of course that makes you Robin,” Peter dished back.

Bambi did the nose crinkle thing again and mumbled, “I’d rather be Nightwing, thanks.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Peter smirked. 

“I’ll shut up if you don’t call me Robin,” the kid challenged.

“That’s fine. I think I prefer Bambi to Robin,” Peter shot back.

Bambi squawked as they pulled across the street from the bar, the trip having passed pleasantly, at least in Peter’s mind. Now it was time to get down to business. “Here’s how this is going to go down. I’m going to enter this fine establishment, see if I can ascertain the whereabouts of Mr. Smith and if we’re lucky, arrest him,” Peter laid out his plan. 

Peter expected Bambi to argue with him. The young man had seemed as though he enjoyed bantering and was going to make his voice heard rather anyone wanted to hear him or not.

“Do you want me to wait here or cover the back door?” the rookie asked instead.

Covering his surprise, Peter said, “Cover the back door. If I’m not out within fifteen minutes to collect you, return to the car.”

“Yes, sir,” Bambi acknowledged. 

The lack of opposition, hell, the easy capitulation made Peter’s head spin with power. No one on the team was this easy to work with. Check that, nobody was this easy going, not if they had a brain in their head. Bambi seemed to have a brain in his pretty little head so there had to be a catch.

They split up to make their approach and Peter paused a moment on the sidewalk to admire the way the younger man moved. Despite being a human, Bambi had some pretty sweet moves. No wonder he was the apple of Captain’s eye.

Peter entered _Healthy Spirits_ and as expected, just about every head in the establishment turned to watch his entrance. A large gentleman near the back of the room rose to his feet and headed toward what was presumably the rear entrance. By the time the man hit the crash bar on the exit, he was running at full speed.

Turning on his own supernaturally enhanced speed, Peter was still too far behind the fugitive to stop him and there were too many people to draw his gun. He could only hope Bambi wasn’t standing right in front of the door or he’d be leveled by Mr. Smith.

Clearing the exit, Peter had a front row view of Mr. Smith hitting an invisible barrier; the fugitive didn’t just stagger back, no he actually went airborne and landed at Peter’s feet. The shifter lay on his back, blinking slowly.

“Joe Smith, you have the right to remain silent,” Peter began to Mirandize the dazed man but the werewolf began to babble.

“What the fuck? No one should be throwing down Mountain Ash outside of a bar,” the big man whined. He rubbed his forehead as though his head hurt him. Sometimes landing on the ass, especially when that was the seat of someone’s brain, could make the head hurt.

“Yes, well, nevertheless that is what happened here. Now let me finish arresting you and we’ll get you back to a nice, safe cell,” Peter needled.

Bambi broke the Mountain Ash barrier and, using Wolfsbane infused handcuffs, subdued Mr. Smith. Peter was grateful he didn’t have to handle his own handcuffs; it was a pain in the ass to put on gloves just to handle the Wolfsbane but his skin was pretty sensitive and he refused to risk exposure unnecessarily. 

Hauling Mr. Smith to his feet, Peter flashed a smile at his partner. “Not bad, rookie.”

Peter stood and watched as bright pink flooded Bambi’s face. It was enchanting and Peter didn’t know if he wanted to slap the kid on the back for a job well done or bed him.

The human had decent game and that was a fact. He also didn’t argue with Peter over his orders, ceding authority to Peter’s seniority.

Maybe, just maybe, Argent knew what he was doing.

-0-

Argent called Peter into his office. 

“You were gone less than an hour. Tell me what happened,” the captain invited. Peter made no mistake, it wasn’t a request; it was an order.

“The fugitive was at the bar and we apprehended him. I believe he is currently being processed downstairs,” Peter concluded.

Argent scowled and Peter fought to keep a smirk off of his face; it was always fun winding up humans, especially when the human was a worthy opponent like Chris Argent.

“Peter, I want your evaluation of how Stiles did on this warrant run,” Argent leaned back, fingers steepled in a show of subtle confidence, as he turned those light colored eyes on Peter like a weapon.

Peter huffed. “Fine. The rookie didn’t screw it up.”

Argent continued to stare.

Pushing his sleeves up his forearms, Peter conceded with an eyeroll. “Stilinski used Mountain Ash to slow down the fugitive when he tried fleeing the scene via the rear exit. I would’ve caught him myself but it was refreshing not having to chase him down. Although now that I think about it, I was denied my work out.”

This time Argent rolled his eyes. “Then why don’t you visit the gym?” he suggested. The amusement fled his expression before he said, “Remember, I’m charging you with Stiles’s wellbeing.”

“Aye, aye, El Capitan,” Peter murmured as he stood up and left the office, dismissed. 

Peter might play fast and loose with the rules but he would never purposefully put one of their own at risk. Even if it was a Mountain Ash-wielding human.

Ignoring the stares of Douglas and Kali, Peter headed downstairs to the locker room. A little work out right now would allow him to burn off some of the excess energy rippling beneath his skin. 

Peter slowed as he approached the locker room, hearing voices.

“Damn it, Stiles. You’re a puny little human. Why the hell did they pick you for this squad over me?” An unknown voice snarled. 

Peter’s nose identified there were only two occupants in the locker room and one of them was Stiles. The other was a hybrid—maybe werewolf and werecoyote?

The captain had made a point of reminding Peter that Bambi’s health was now his concern so he sped up his stride, intent on putting this hybrid upstart into his place.

Bambi laughed. It was low and husky and it did things to Peter, made him want to smile, made him want to pet the human. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe there’s a simple reason they didn’t pick you for this job, Theo? Maybe you just didn’t meet the height requirement.”

Peter turned the corner of lockers to see a bare chested male, light brown hair spiked up, boxing Bambi into a corner. The hybrid was a good two or three inches shorter than the human. 

Peter was amused by the comment, found it downright hilarious in fact, but he refrained from commenting. There was no need to add fuel to the fire here.

The shorter man became enraged and partially shifted. “I’m going to rend you limb from limb,” he growled.

The human seemed very unimpressed with the shifter’s flexing muscles and threatening posture. He had the audacity to laugh again; he was either very, very brave or very, very stupid. 

The shifter—Theo—batted a claw at the vulnerable human.

Peter hustled forward to intercede, already composing a list of ways he had tried to keep his charge safe so he wouldn’t be tossed out on his ass for not following Captain’s orders when a flash of light erupted.

The shifter stumbled backward, covering his face, and Peter blinked his own eyes as his wolf subsided.

“Theo, we’re on the same side here. And you know my tattoos are going to keep me safe from you so why do you still try to lay a paw on me in anger?” Bambi’s voice had gentled but Peter couldn’t decide if it’s because he felt bad for the other guy or this was a scene that had played out, over and over again, and the human was exhausted by it.

“You just make me want to punch your lights out!” Theo growled but he turned away, snarling at Peter as he skirted around him.

“Making friends and influencing people?” Peter drawled as he leaned against a locker. He wanted to know more about these protection tattoos but he refused to display his curiosity so overtly. 

Bambi grimaced. “I seem to have that affect on a lot of people.”

Peter couldn’t tell if that state of affairs bothered the human or not. His scent had remained unchanged during the whole dust-up.

“You get tested by Supers quite a bit, do you?” Peter asked, his interest now caught.

“Supernaturals have no reason to trust humans and I get that but it does get tiring bumping up against the attitude all of the time. Especially with Theo. If you looked up insanity in the dictionary you’d probably find his picture; he keeps doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result,” Bambi shook his head before turning and closing his locker.

The tactical vest had been stowed and the human was now left in his rumpled blue dress shirt. His hair was sticking out at some odd angles. 

The whole disheveled appearance appealed to Peter’s wolf who seemed to want to take the human in hand and groom him. Peter’s human side wanted to take the younger man in hand but with a completely different purpose in mind, mainly messing him up more, preferably in bed. Or on any surface. Including up against a wall. He wasn’t picky.

Peter shook these very dangerous thoughts from his head. “I think Captain Argent wants to see you.”

The human flashed a soft smile, dipping his head a little. “Thank you, sir.”

Peter’s wolf preened. Peter ignored his wolf.

This assignment might be more difficult than Peter had first thought.

-0-

Stiles’s phone danced in place on the table, buzzing. The younger man picked up his phone, read the text message, and smiled.

Peter wasn’t thrilled with the smile. Someone else held Stiles’s attention and Peter’s wolf didn’t like it one little bit.

Stiles’s long fingers tattooed out an answer and then slid the phone into the pocket of his navy dress pants. 

“Can I top off your coffee?” Joyce, the owner of the diner asked as she paused by their table. They had served a warrant before ass o’clock in the morning and when Peter had suggested they get a bite to eat, Stiles’s face had lit up. 

The bell over the front door jingled and Douglas entered the place, focus zeroing in on Stiles.

“I think duty calls so we need to get going. Thank you though, Joyce,” Peter smiled as he dug out money and left it on the table. They’d both had the western omelet with English muffins and coffee, Peter’s usual order, so he just doubled the usual payment.

Stiles reached into his pocket for his wallet but Peter shook him off. “This one is on me. You can get the next one.”

White teeth glistened in the bright fluorescent light overhead as Stiles thanked Peter by bestowing a bright smile on him. 

Distracted by the smile, Peter was a fraction too slow to call out a warning to Stiles about the impending arrival of one of their team.

Douglas reached out a hand to clutch Stiles’s shoulder and Peter saw claws emerging from the man’s fingertips. 

Bright light sparked and the Löwenmench flinched back before actually making contact with the human.

“I have protection tattoos,” Stiles turned his head, speaking to Douglas. The human didn’t seem in the least bit fazed by the interaction. He didn’t frown, or smile, and he made it a point to hold eye contact with Douglas until the other man looked away. 

Peter remembered what Stiles had said previously to Theo: The tattoos kept Stiles safe, as in no one could lay a paw on him in anger.

Was Douglas angry at Stiles? No, probably not. They didn’t interact enough for Stiles to have angered the other officer. But that didn’t mean the hybrid shifter didn’t have malicious intentions toward the human. In fact that little light show demonstrated Stiles’s magic was very aware of those intentions. Stiles had won a staring contest and that also wouldn’t sit well with his teammate.

Fuck.

“Something we can help you with, Douglas?” Peter drawled.

The bright blue eyes turned their full attention on Peter, which had been his plan. Peter didn’t want Stiles on Douglas’s radar, not at all.

“I have an assignment but Lucas got held up. I thought I might borrow Bambi here,” the blond flashed his trademark smirk.

“I’m afraid he’s wanted back at the station by the captain but I can assist you,” Peter offered. He didn’t want to spend time around the hybrid, not without Kincaid to act as his handler, but protection tattoos or not, he wasn’t going to let Douglas have a go at his partner.

Douglas shrugged. “Nah, that’s okay. See you later.” The blond disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.

 _Good riddance_ , Peter thought.

Stiles reached out and picked up the glass of water in front of him. His hand shook as he sipped some of the clear liquid. The human hadn’t been unaffected by Douglas’s posturing after all.

“Don’t allow yourself to be alone with him,” Peter cautioned.

The human nodded, swallowing another gulp of water. “Yeah, no problem there. Was it me or was he looking at me like I was the special of the day?”

More like Stiles was the gazelle and Douglas the predator stalking him.

Peter ignored the question. “Come on, let’s see what Captain Argent has in store for us the rest of the day.”

Stiles slid out of the booth without a word, following Peter out the door.

It was difficult but Peter tamped down on the urge to grab Stiles’s arm and keep him close. Peter’s wolf was right there with him in the urge to protect his partner.

Oh. My. God. Peter, and his wolf, considered Stiles their partner.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge so Peter tucked it away to worry at it later.

-0-

Peter had definitely noticed a pattern. On the mornings he and Stiles met for breakfast—and that was more often than not—the younger man received a text, smiled, and texted back.

On the days they finished their shift with a bite for dinner together, the same ritual was repeated. Text received, read, and return text sent.

Peter’s wolf was beyond curious. Fortunately the human’s scent was filled with humor and happiness and there were no sexual notes present. That was perhaps the only thing keeping Peter from demanding who the younger man was communicating with and making a fool of himself.

On this particular evening, the two men were working a later than normal shift. They were in the squad room, finishing up some paper work. Stiles kept checking his phone but apparently no text was forthcoming.

“Problem?” Peter finally inquired.

“I, uh, don’t know,” Stiles quietly answered, face scrunched up in worry. 

Maybe Peter could coax some information out of the young man in his distracted state. “Are you having a lover’s tiff?” Peter teased. He was pretty certain that whomever Stiles texted with, it wasn’t that kind of relationship.

Stiles pursed his lips but he didn’t respond.

“Stiles!” Argent called out from within his office.

Stiles was on his feet and moving toward the office without a word.

Peter rose to his feet and paced near the office. The window blinds were open but the door was closed; Peter had to rely on body language to figure out what was going on.

Captain Argent and Stiles were standing in the middle of the office, the captain’s hands gripping the younger man’s shoulders.

Stiles’s legs suddenly gave out and Argent, a big man himself, easily maneuvered the younger man into a chair.

Before Peter could wrest the door open, Chris opened it himself. “Peter, can I get a glass of water?”

Peter ignored his commanding officer, sliding into the office. He kneeled down in front of his partner. “Stiles, what’s wrong?” Peter took one of Stiles’s hands between his own and lightly chafed it. It was cool and clammy. Worrisome.

Chris cleared his throat. “Stiles’s father is a county sheriff. He was in a job related car accident and we’re awaiting word on his condition.”

Oh. 

His partner’s breathing was loud and harsh in the silence of the office and Peter pushed Stiles’s head down, afraid the young man might keel over. He kept his grip on Stiles’s hand while his other hand rubbed up and down the younger man’s back, trying to sooth him. “Hey, just concentrate on breathing. In. Hold. One. Two. Out.”

“I’ll just get that water myself,” Chris said, tone wry.

Peter ignored him.

Stiles didn’t seem to even know anyone else was in the room with him.

Peter’s heart ached for his partner. 

Footsteps approached and a cup was thrust before his face. Peter took the cup and then lifted Stiles’s chin. “Stiles, take a sip.”

Stiles dutifully let Peter hold the cup to his lips and swallowed two gulps. Peter considered that a success. Stiles’s brown eyes were also lucid, indicating the percipient panic attack had abated.

Argent’s cell phone rang loudly. “Yes, Melissa, he’s here with me.”

The feminine voice speaking assured Chris that the sheriff was going to be okay, he had a concussion but he was awake and coherent.

“He’s okay. Your dad is okay,” Peter informed Stiles who had been leaning on his forearms, full attention on their commanding officer.

The starch seemed to fall out of Stiles’s body and he collapsed like cooked pasta.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Peter gathered the young man into his arms, willing the strangled breathing pattern to ease up and the unpleasant tang of panic to dissipate. “It sounds like he’s okay.”

Chris raised an eyebrow as he ended the call and turned to find Peter on his knees and Stiles settled across his lap, held tightly against Peter’s chest. “Melissa said your dad will make a full recovery. He has a concussion but he’s awake and complaining. What do you say I take you back home so you can visit your old man?”

Peter wanted to be the one to take care of Stiles but he cut off his wolf’s grumble. Stiles would be safe with their commanding officer.

Stiles lifted his head and answered, “Yes. Please. I need to see him with my own two eyes. Thank you, Chris.”

His partner was pale, his eyes bloodshot but a smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

To his surprise, their commanding officer didn’t correct Stiles for using his given name. Peter had suspected the two men knew each other and this confirmed it.

Stiles pushed out of Peter’s lap and climbed to his feet. Peter sat back on his heels, at the ready to steady the young man if he became dizzy, but Stiles maintained his balance. “I’m, uh, going to just, uh, get cleaned up,” he announced.

Chris rolled his eyes but turned his back, pushing something around on his desk. “We’ll leave in fifteen,” he rumbled.

Peter climbed to his feet and followed Stiles out of the office. His partner turned and gave Peter a hesitant smile. “Thanks. For, you know, taking care of me. I probably overreacted but it’s just me and my dad left. My mom’s been gone since I was a kid. I know I can’t protect my dad from everything but I still worry.”

It seemed odd that the child would want to protect the parent but Stiles was no ordinary human. 

“You’re welcome. Now get your stuff together or Chris will leave without you,” Peter gave Stiles a light shove. The other man dipped his head down, blushing, but he left the area, no doubt headed for the locker room.

The bullpen was silent, everyone either having headed home or they were out on assignment.

“Stiles was a good friend of my daughter, Allison,” Captain Argent said from his doorway.

No, not Captain Argent. This was Chris Argent speaking.

“I figured you knew Stiles previously,” Peter answered. 

“Allison was in the same pack as Stiles. Her death almost ripped apart that pack, and Stiles. Stiles is a very special young man. I consider him family. I wouldn’t take kindly to someone leading him on,” the other man said, folding his arms across his chest.

Peter made eye contact and nodded. “I agree, Stiles is very special. I also wouldn’t take kindly to someone leading him on,” Peter responded. 

He wasn’t sure what his feelings were for the other man. His partner. A relationship between the two of them was a bad idea yet his wolf didn’t care. Peter was beginning not to care as well.

“Just so we understand each other,” Argent growled.

“That we do,” Peter said before he went to his desk to finish his paper work. 

He wanted to pepper Chris with questions about his daughter, this pack and most importantly, Stiles.

This was neither the time nor the place though. Peter was good at biding his time and waiting for the right moment.

Now he needed to convince his wolf to do the same.


	2. Chapter 2

“Listen up!” Captain Argent growled. “We have been assigned as a part of a joint task force. Please direct your attention to the smart board. This is John Jakubowski. He’s accused of stealing at least 18 rifles and handguns and two silencers from the Armageddon Gun Shop. The FBI has reason to believe this man mailed a manifesto to the President of the United States and they are taking this threat very seriously. That means you are taking this threat very seriously. In a moment I’m going to hand out your assignments. You are to clear the area assigned to you and apprehend the suspect if he’s on location.” 

Stiles turned toward Peter, eyebrows raised. Peter could hear Stiles’s fast respirations; the younger man was either worried or excited. Most likely both.

The Fugitive Warrant Squad was loaned out to any law enforcement agency requiring their expertise in arresting fugitives. Peter preferred when their squad worked solo but it was a necessary evil that they play nice with other agencies. It was particularly worrisome because the other agencies didn’t have the same training and were apt to make more mistakes. Mistakes in the field could mean lives lost.

Peter refused to lose Stiles. 

“Stiles, you are to remain by my side during the entirety of this assignment. Do not separate from my side regardless of what you think you see. Got it?” Maybe on the way to their assigned location he could explain some of this minutia to Stiles but for now Peter needed to impress upon Stiles the important of staying together.

Peter couldn’t keep Stiles safe if the younger man strayed from his side.

“Got it.” Stiles’s response was all business. 

Peter’s wolf strained to break free, pleased at the deference the human showed it. His human side thrilled at the response as well. When this assignment was over Peter needed to give great consideration to disclosing his feelings to Stiles. Of course first Peter needed to sort out just exactly what those feelings were.

Peter made certain Stiles’s tactical vest was secured properly and he had enough ammo for his weapon. Stiles flashed a smile his way and it conveyed exhilaration. Peter supposed that was better than dread although they needed to pull back on some of the adrenaline and do their jobs.

“Peter, you and Stiles have the 300 block of Shotwell Street. There’s an empty building at 330.” Argent handed Peter the fact sheet. His commanding officer grabbed his wrist, not to restrain him but to get his attention. “Be careful. Both of you.”

Peter had expected the usual warning about bringing his partner back safely but Argent had included Peter as well. He wasn’t sure if the caution made him feel warm and fuzzy or cranky; Peter knew how to do his job, including being careful. Warm and fuzzy won out despite his thoughts—he held the captain in high esteem and it appeared it was reciprocal.

Ennis and Kali dropped them off since they were so close to the Mission Station. Peter heaved a sigh of relief they’d been spared sharing a ride with Douglas. The blond Löwenmench continued to watch Stiles with cold blue eyes Peter found worrisome. 

They paused outside of the stately looking white and gray three-story condominium building. “No one should be in this building so we’ll clear it first. Remember, stay with me.” Peter used his wireless headset to convey their location and intentions.

When he was finished, Stiles touched Peter’s arm. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Once they’d cleared the entryway, Stiles’s chin dipped upward as he took in the gorgeous hardwood staircase in front of them. “Of course that’ll be a lot of steps.”

Peter rolled his eyes and motioned to Stiles to remain silent. The younger man blushed but signaled he was ready.

The first floor didn’t have much to search and they made quick work of it. They were between the first and second floor when a door banged from somewhere above them.

Peter’s heartbeat started pounding in his ears. He jumped ahead, intent on protecting his partner, but Stiles’s strong grip caught his arm.

Shaking off the grip, Peter cocked his head, turning his enhanced hearing toward the area the sound had originated from.

The lights on the stairwell cut out but there were skylights allowing natural lighting to flood the area. It took Peter’s eyes a moment to adjust and then he made the turn at the next landing and raced upward again, Stiles fast on his heels.

“Peter!”

Peter opened his mouth to reprimand Stiles for breaking the silence but he found his feet leaving the stairs as someone crashed into him.

Why did Stiles knock him to the side?

Something heavy hit his vest and Peter couldn’t maintain his balance. He crashed into the railing and clawed at it, slowing his descent. Barely. He hadn’t been knocked on his ass since he was a rookie.

Footsteps pelted above him and Peter realized they had a runner.

He wanted to tear off the tactical vest that hindered his movement but he realized the vest had absorbed bullets. No wonder he’d been knocked off of his feet.

Stiles.

Stiles had been next to him.

Peter turned his head. His partner sprawled on the landing below him. Flat on his back. Peter couldn’t ascertain whether or not he was breathing.

Peter keyed the wireless headset. “Shots fired. Officer down. I repeat, officer down. 330 Shotwell Street. Requesting backup.”

A voice responded but Peter had moved on, assessing Stiles’s condition.

The younger man was slumped across the landing, arms over his head, trailing onto the steps below. There were no visible wounds on his jean-clad legs or cotton clothed arms. No blood marred his face and Peter sniffed to make sure he wasn’t bleeding from the back of his head either; clear.

The tactical vest had done its job. Peter counted five indentations, the most worrisome one covering the center of Stiles’s chest. The vests might keep bullets from penetrating skin but the speeding projectiles still meted out an impressive wallop and intense bruising.

Peter quickly unfastened Stiles’s vest and ripped it away, tearing the gray long sleeved t-shirt away in his haste to assure himself the bullet hadn’t penetrated Stiles’s body. The vests couldn’t prevent some of the strange ricochets that found the lips of the surface, tunneling beneath the protective gear to wreak havoc on tender flesh.

No blood. There was, however, a red spot spreading over the center and left of the breastbone. The location of the heart.

Stiles’s heart and lungs were functioning but the sounds from both were labored. Usually Peter couldn’t hear Stiles’s heartbeat; something to do with the protection tattoo. If that was failing…

Someone tried to pull him away and Peter flashed his eyes, teeth descending. He would do whatever he needed to protect his partner. His Stiles.

“Easy, sir. We just want to help your partner.”

The paramedics were here and that meant other officers had already cleared the building. All while Peter panicked over his partner’s condition.

Peter stepped back, his fingers locating the entry points for the bullet that had drilled into his own vest.

“Ouch!” His fingers were singed.

Wolfsbane.

Someone had tried to permanently address his presence in this building and that meant whoever had been waiting for them had knowledge, or at least guessed, he was a shifter.

If any of his exposed body had taken the bullet then he might’ve died depending on the type of Wolfsbane used and how quickly he could get to an antidote.

Instead Stiles had pushed him out of the way. 

Stiles had taken bullets meant for him.

The paramedics secured the pale human to a gurney and Peter recognized some of the equipment strapped to him—the oxygen mask, blood pressure cuff and IV line.

One of the uniformed men spoke to the other. “Possible pneumothorax. We need to move.”

Pneumothorax. Air trapped in the pleural space that caused the uncoupling of the lung from the chest wall. 

Life threatening.

Peter vowed to stay by Stiles’s side and make sure he received the care he needed. He and his wolf were on the same page on this.

-0-

Peter sat next to the bed, his forearms resting against his thighs. 

Stiles had suffered a pneumothorax and a needle had been used to remove the excess air. His prognosis was excellent; the doctor expected him to make a full recovery within two weeks.

His partner was out of the woods but until his father arrived, Peter planned to stand guard over Stiles. His wolf insisted upon it.

The slow, easy breathing cadence shifted and Stiles stirred. Without opening his eyes he murmured, “Ouch.”

“Yes, ouch. That’s what happens when a bullet impacts the tactical vest.” Peter kept his tone light and easy.

“Peter!” Stiles’s eyes flew open and he tried to sit up. 

Before he could exacerbate his chest, Peter pressed his palms on Stiles’s shoulders and held him down. He hadn’t even realized he’d stood up until he was staring down into Stiles’s beautiful, bloodshot eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles frowned at him.

“Someone pushed me out of the way and took most of the bullets.” Peter cupped Stiles’s pale cheek carefully in one hand. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but what the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I saw movement and I was afraid you were going to get your head blown off.” The frown had turned to a scowl.

“You probably saved my life.”

Stiles’s eyebrows rose in a question but before he could waste his breath, Peter filled him in. “Those bullets were laced with Wolfsbane. A very rare type of Wolfsbane for which the department didn’t have the antidote.”

This time it was Stiles who reached upward and cupped Peter’s cheek. He winced at the movement but it didn’t prevent him from making the skin-to-skin contact. “Thank fuck you’re okay.”

Peter leaned into the contact before taking Stiles’s hand in his and lowering it to his side. He kept their fingers laced together though. “If only I could say the same for you.”

Stiles shifted in place, grimacing. “What’s the damage?”

“Pneumothorax from the force of the bullet’s impact.” 

Peter was going to explain what pneumothorax meant but Stiles grinned up at him. “Oh, good.”

“How is that good?” Peter was startled by his partner’s response. 

“Well, I should be back to full strength in one to two weeks. The pneumothorax, when treated promptly, is one of the easier things to come back from.”

How did Stiles know this?

His partner blushed, answering the unspoken question. “I, uh, did a paper on it in high school.”

“Of course you did.” Peter could only shake his head in amazement.

Silence stretched out comfortably between the two men until Stiles cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” 

Peter didn’t like the look on the other man’s face. Usually Peter could read Stiles’s emotions in the curl of his lip or the brightness of his eyes. Not this time and Peter didn’t like it. 

Stiles made eye contact and then continued. “Peter, I know you have your reasons not to do this but I wanted you to know that if you ever want to join a pack, I talked to mine and you’re in.”

Several competing emotions surged through Peter. He was genuinely touched Stiles thought highly enough of him to consider him as a pack mate but he hurt deep down, all the way to his core, when he thought of replacing his old pack with a new one. 

Stiles squeezed his forearm. “Hey, I’m not saying we could replace your other pack, just that this pack might add something to your life. Stability. Other like-minded people. And, uh, me. I mean we’d be closer. Not that I’m saying you want to be closer. Just, you know, putting it out there. But seriously, no pressure.”

It was like his partner could read his mind. Peter stoked his thumb across the top of Stiles’s hand. “I appreciate the thought. It’s just that what happened to my old pack…it was brutal. I lost everything. Not just my pack but my family. I also lost years of my life. I know you’ve done the research, you know about the fire. I couldn’t go through that again. I’d go completely insane if something happened to,” Peter hesitated but settled on, “a new pack.”

Stiles smiled but it was crooked and held a hint of sadness. “I know. About the fire. My dad was a deputy on duty when it happened and I remember it. I mean I obviously don’t know what it was like for you but I wanted you to know that you’d be welcome. Very welcome. And that it’s an option if you ever want to try it.”

Peter was rarely speechless—he loved the spoken word as much as Stiles—but at the moment words failed him.

Something Stiles had said resonated with Peter. His dad had been a deputy on duty at the time of the fire. Yes. Peter remembered Deputy Stilinski who had visited him in the hospital as he recovered from his burns. No wonder the name had sounded familiar although Peter tried to forget that time in his life.

Protect and serve must be a calling for the Stilinskis. Like father, like son. Stiles’s father must be so proud of him for taking up the mantle.

Stiles.

Pack.

Peter’s thoughts circled back to the pack conversation. His mind couldn’t leave it alone.

Stiles broke the heavy moment between them by scrunching up his nose adorably. “Hey, did we get in a shoot out on Shotwell?”

Peter palmed his face. “I can’t believe you said that.” Actually, Peter could believe it. Stiles’s irreverent sense of humor was always lurking beneath the surface. 

“Well someone shot well on Shotwell but not well enough.” Peter should’ve seen that coming. 

“I’m certain the alliteration was more than you could ignore but I think you’ve thoroughly covered it.” When Peter had seen Stiles unconscious on the stairwell, he didn’t think he’d have much reason to smile but here he was, grinning like a fool. 

A huge yawn caught Stiles by surprise and his jaw cracked with the force of it. “Your wish is my command. I think I’m going to just close my eyes for a minute. You should go home and get some sleep. Or at least get something to eat. It’s been a long-assed day.”

“In a while. I’m just going to hang out here unless you’re tired of my company.” Actually Peter had no plans to leave until Stiles’s father arrived even if that meant lurking in the hallway.

“No, I rest better when you’re near.”

Stiles drifted off, his respirations slowing and becoming deeper.

To lower your guard in front of a wolf was the highest compliment. Humans were at their most vulnerable when they slept and for a human to admit they rested better—felt safer—was high acclaim. Not only that but Stiles, as a member of a pack, had to be aware of that fact.

His partner never stopped surprising him.

The pack idea…that had definitely been a surprise. His partner had planted thoughts in his head and Peter couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Maybe even planted seeds of hope.

Peter just needed to decide if he was ready to make some changes in his life or if he was satisfied with the status quo.

-0-

Peter knocked lightly on the open door to the captain’s office. 

Argent looked up from a pile of papers in front of him on the desk. “Come in.” 

“You wanted to see me, _sir?_ ”

Argent rolled his eyes at Peter and actually snorted. “You’re one of the few people I’ve met who raises making that form of address sound disrespectful to an art form.”

Peter grinned. He liked it when Chris was in a playful mood. It happened rarely and it usually meant good things for the unit. “I’ll try to tone it down.”

“No you won’t. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. When did you last see Stiles?” Pale blue eyes pinned Peter in place. 

_Shit._ Peter hadn’t laid eyes on Stiles in six days. Six. Long. Days.

“I talked to him yesterday. He sounded much improved. He wants to come back to work but I told him it’s too soon.” Peter had kept close tabs on Stiles but he’d also kept his distance. Being around Stiles clouded his thinking and he needed a clear head while he contemplated things.

Argent lifted an eyebrow. “If you’d seen him in person you’d know he doesn’t only sound better, he is better. In fact he’s downstairs in the gym working on his endurance as we speak.”

Peter opened his mouth and squawked a mixture of disbelief and outrage. He took a deep breath and tried again. “What do you mean he’s in the gym? He should be resting! What if there are complications with his heart?”

“Peter, he’s been medically cleared. He’s on light duty this week and should be back full strength next week.” Chris’s tone was mild and filled with patience. He had the sound of a long-suffering teacher addressing a preschooler.

“Will that be all Captain?” Peter didn’t like being schooled by anyone but he liked it less that Stiles was here. Pushing himself. He needed to see his partner right now.

“Dismissed.” 

The trip downstairs was accomplished in under sixty seconds and a few people he passed in the hallway and in the stairwell might have pressed themselves against the wall to get out of his way. He didn’t pay them the slightest attention. 

Peter threw open the door to the gym and noticed there was only one occupant in the room. Someone about Peter’s own height, though slimmer in build, and with a magnificent ass. That ass was twitching back and forth as Stiles’s feet pelted along the treadmill at a slow but steady jog.

Once Peter reached the apparatus he waited for Stiles to raise his head. He took the time to monitor the steady inhalations and exhalations of Stiles’s breath. Everything sounded as it should.

Stiles looked up from the treadmill’s readout and stared in the mirror, startling a bit as he noticed Peter’s presence.

When they made eye contact in the mirror Stiles’s heart jumped, a funky little beat grabbing Peter’s attention.

He didn’t pause to wonder why he could hear Stiles’s heartbeat—usually the tattoo masked that noise—he only acted.

His hand flashed out and he grabbed the emergency stop key, yanking it out.

The treadmill ceased its whooshing and Stiles grabbed ahold of the handrails to steady his balance. He yanked out his earbuds, turning to face Peter, but Peter was already on the move. He swooped in and lifted Stiles off of the apparatus, cradling him to his chest.

Stiles tilted his chin up, jaw slack in disbelief. “What the hell, Peter?!”

“Stiles, there’s something wrong with your heart. I heard an extra beat. We need to get you help.” Peter suited action to words and he was already striding across the room when he became aware Stiles had buried his face against Peter’s neck.

Stiles’s voice was muffled by the contact but he choked out a response. “Peter, my heart is fine.”

“You didn’t hear it. There’s something wrong with it.”

“Peter, I swear to you my heart is fine.”

“Then what just happened?”

“Anytime I see you I get excited.”

“You get…what are you talking about?”

Peter could detect the same weary patience in Stiles’s voice that he’d just heard in Argent’s. “I’m attracted to you, Peter. Sometimes when humans see something, or someone, they find attractive, their heart rate spikes a bit. It’s a thing.”

“You’re attracted to me.” Peter’s mouth was now hanging out in disbelief.

“Kill me now,” Stiles muttered but he pulled his face away from where it had been hiding against Peter’s skin. “Even my tattoo knows it. It can sense your intentions are pure toward me. For the record, I think they’re a little too pure.”

“Stiles, you’re…I mean we…this isn’t a good idea.” Peter had been reduced to sputtering nonsensical noises. 

Stiles pressed a kiss to the corner of Peter’s lips. “I.” He pressed another to the other corner. “Don’t.” The next light kiss alighted on the bow of Peter’s top lip. “Care.”

Peter hiked Stiles higher in his arms and mashed their mouths together, any finesse lost in the rush of yes…now…more.

Who was Peter kidding? He wanted Stiles and the feeling was mutual.

The rest would be sorted out later.

-0-

Stiles took a strong pull from the straw sticking out of the cup holding his fast food soda. Peter’s focus shifted to Stiles’s pink lips pursed around the straw.

Stiles had very talented lips. And tongue. And…

Peter adjusted his crotch, trying to ease the constriction caused by his libido.

Stiles snorted his amusement and that set off a chain reaction among his team. There was no way to hide his arousal, or Stiles’s, from a room full of shifters.

Kali smirked. Ennis rolled his eyes. Kincaid grinned good-naturedly.

Douglas stared. Hard. First at Peter and then Stiles.

Kincaid shoved his hand against Douglas’s shoulder and the other man rocked to the side while remaining seated.

“What was that for?” Douglas’s tone was mild as he looked at his partner but his blue eyes pulsed. It had a chilling effect and Peter narrowed his eyes, fighting the urge to shiver.

“You’re staring. It’s creepy. Knock it the fuck off.” Kincaid’s tone was also easy going but his brown eyes had a steely glint to them. 

Kincaid was larger and less temperamental than his blond partner and it usually took a lot to make him edgy. Apparently Douglas had crossed that line.

“I can’t help it. Putting fresh meat in front of me is like waving the red cape in front of the bull.”

Stiles pushed away from his desk while rolling his eyes. “I’m going to get some coffee.”

Peter was proud of his partner for not showing any signs of distress in the face of Douglas’s harassment. As Stiles had explained after they had given the mattress an energetic work out and Peter’s fingers traced the markings, the tattoos helped control the physical reactions but it was up to Stiles to maintain his composure when threatened. In this instance he held his tongue and didn’t engage. 

“He’s one cool customer.” Kali’s comment caused Ennis to shift in his seat but he didn’t show any other reaction. 

Douglas, however, reacted. Overreacted. He surged to his feet. “He has a protection tattoo. I wonder what would happen if I sliced it off of him.” He brandished one hand, claws springing from his fingertips. “Do you think he would still be a cool customer then?”

Peter was standing before he gave it any thought. Advancing on his opponent. 

No one threatened his partner.

Ennis quickly stood between Peter and the teammate he wanted to silence. Peter, temporarily stymied, resorted to words over fists. “Do you think you’ll still be able to speak after I rip your tongue out of your mouth? Shall we test that little theory out?” It wasn’t Peter’s most eloquent comeback and his fangs had descended, giving his threat a lisp.

Kincaid had Douglas pinned back although the Löwenmench was straining, eager to get to Peter. Kincaid was scowling at his partner. Usually he played peacemaker but at the moment he seemed too disgusted to do anything else but stare down at the blond.

Kali strode up to Douglas and, without warning, punched him in the nose. “What’s your damage? You’ve been riding that kid since he showed up and as far as I’m concerned he’s been holding his own. Even better than you did when you joined the unit, dumbass.”

Douglas spit blood on to the floor at Kali’s feet. “His kind has no place among us. Humans are weak. Beneath us.”

Kincaid hauled Douglas backward, his forearm pressing against his partner’s throat, holding him in place. “Enough of this pseudo-Aryan race bullshit. Either get your head on straight or I’m going to knock it off your shoulders.”

The two men tussled but Kincaid imposed his will on the shorter man, dragging him out of the room. Peter’s last glimpse of Douglas was of flashing blue eyes and what Peter could only describe as a creepy smile.

The door to the hallway closest to them had just clicked shut after the dramatic exit when Stiles appeared from the door across the room, two coffees in hand. He looked around, noting the disheveled workstations that had been roughed up when all of the shifters jockeyed for position. “What did I miss?”

Kali intercepted the coffee Stiles was handing to Peter. She’d acquitted herself admirably when punching Douglas and putting him in his place so Peter held his tongue. She smiled at Stiles while darting a look at Peter from beneath lowered lashes. “Not a damn thing as far as I’m concerned. Now let’s figure out how to serve the warrants on the Collins Crew. I’d prefer not to go down in a hail of Wolfsbane bullets.”

Ennis backed his partner’s play, settling back into his chair.

Peter listened with one ear as his three teammates considered different options. His brain was busy processing his options when they came to Douglas. He should report the asshole to the captain but his wolf would prefer to settle things mano a mano.

Or garra a garra if his rusty Spanish proved correct.

In any event, Peter was going to see to it that Douglas never got the chance to lay a claw on Stiles. It might take a bit of planning and time but he’d see to it.

-0-

Peter shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears.

The raid on the Collins Crew hadn’t panned out as planned. They’d received bad Intel. 

From one of their own.

Peter had a moment of _what the fuck?_ but then everything coalesced in his mind. 

It was difficult to parse Stiles’s reaction since his tattoo kept his heart rate under wraps but his expressive face hadn’t registered surprise. Just resignation.

Kincaid, Kali and Ennis hadn’t seen it coming and they’d quickly been marginalized as Douglas locked them away, having set a trap before they arrived, so they couldn’t help defend Stiles.

Douglas, intent on wiping out the lone human in their midst, had obviously lost his mind.

“Stiles!” While the battle raged against the traitor, Peter had lost track of his partner. He should’ve gone to Chris. Or taken care of the problem himself.

He thought he’d have time to take care of Douglas before anything happened. 

A wall of fire flared in front of Peter. He back-pedaled blindly, unable to move his attention away from the burning mass in front of him. Douglas wasn’t the only one who had lost his damned mind.

Peter’s retreat stopped abruptly as he flailed into a barricade. He stared down, unable to fathom what was impeding his escape.

Mountain Ash.

It was happening all over again. 

Peter was confined to a small area, penned in by magic, while the conflagration stalked him relentlessly.

He’d somehow defied the odds before, living through the devastation wrought by the fire that had consumed his home, his family and his very soul. 

“Peter!”

Even the calls of his family, choked with smoke, played on a loop in his head. It was his worst nightmare only he knew he wasn’t going to wake up from this.

Strong hands gripped his shoulders and shook him. “Come on, Peter. You have to snap out of it.”

Peter grappled with whoever held him in place. There was no question in his mind he was going to burn to death but this time he was going to take a hunter out with him.

His emotions were unstable which made it difficult for Peter not to fully shift. He needed his arms and legs in order to lock on to the struggling form in his arms. His claws dug in, finding purchase, taking pleasure in the yelp of pain his actions elicited.

“Peter, please,” a low voice soothed before coughing shook the slighter frame.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, Peter. We need to move. Now.” Stiles shuffled his feet toward the fire and Peter dug his heels in.

“Peter, do you trust me?” Stiles wheezed in his ear.

Overcome with emotion—fear, anger, and gratitude—Peter nodded his head in acquiescence. 

Warmth flared in Peter’s chest.

It was the unmistakable click of a pack bond sliding into place like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle inserted to complete the picture. Peter hadn’t experienced a pack bond since the disastrous fire consumed his family.

“I’m so sorry Peter,” Stiles sighed out before standing up straight and smacking Peter on the back. “Now move that fine ass of yours!” Stiles barked. He sounded remarkably like Captain Argent in that moment and Peter’s feet obeyed, allowing the human to maneuver him.

Peter could feel the pack bond pulsing strongly between him and the human. There were other bonds slotting into place but they were weaker.

The Mountain Ash barrier popped as Stiles scuffed a toe through it and Peter surged forward, dragging Stiles with him.

The thick smoke made it difficult for Peter to see clearly but when he brushed by an inert object he glanced down. Douglas? The blond hair was soot covered but the blue eyes were unmistakable even as they stared toward the heavens sightlessly.

Stiles tugged him along and they burst out of the building into smoke tinged air. Peter pulled oxygen into his lungs, his shift receding.

The tightness in his chest eased and Peter clung to Stiles, wrapping his arms tightly around the human, burying his nose in the side of his neck. His pack mate.

Stiles had braved the hellfire to retrieve Peter.

“Move away from him, Hale,” a stern voice commanded.

Peter wanted to obey his supervisor but he couldn’t relinquish his grip on his anchor. Stiles had come for him. Stiles had saved him.

“It’s okay, Chris. Just give him a minute,” Stiles hacked out roughly, wheezing.

Freed from the smoke and soot inside the burning building, Peter’s sensitive nose became inundated with the tang of fresh blood.

“You’re hurt?” Peter pulled his face from the press of flesh and leaned back to stare at Stiles.

The young man was pale beneath the layer of soot. Normally bright brown eyes were red and watering, tears tracking through the dark residue of his skin, leaving white, fragile streaks in their wake.

Stiles’s knees weakened and Peter was left supporting his weight. “Stiles? What’s wrong?”

Argent’s voice boomed from behind his shoulder. “Hale. Peter. I’m not going to tell you again. Move away from Stiles or I’m going to pump you full of Wolfsbane bullets.”

“Chris, no. I’m okay. Just need to catch,” Stiles paused as he sucked in air, “my breath.” The air crackled in the human’s lungs and he began coughing.

“You’re not okay, Stiles. You’re clawed up and bleeding and the only shifter in sight is hovering over you. Now back the hell up, Hale!” Argent ordered, threat in his tone.

Peter guided Stiles to the ground, supporting the human’s head on his shoulder when the long neck wobbled, unable to sustain the weight. “I’m not leaving my pack mate,” Peter decreed.

“It was Douglas,” Stiles whispered, voice scratchy. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

Peter missed Argent’s response, if he had one, as paramedics descended on the scene. Peter growled when they forcibly tried to pry him from Stiles’s side. “He needs oxygen and to have his injuries evaluated,” a brave soul put his hand on Peter’s arm to gain his attention. “Why don’t you ride with us in the rig?”

Unwilling to be parted from Stiles’s side, he quickly agreed. With an arm behind Stiles’s back and another under his knees, Peter stood up, the weight in his arms barely noticeable at the moment. 

“We have a gurney,” the paramedic began to say but then stopped. “Oh screw it, just follow me and we’ll get you both settled in the rig.” 

Stiles was still conscious but he was weak and his lungs were congested. Peter needed him to be okay. 

Once Stiles was strapped to a gurney Peter allowed himself to be guided to a jump seat. An oxygen mask covered Stiles’s nose and mouth and a needle pierced the back of his hand to run an IV. 

Stiles’s eyes remained locked on Peter’s face. “Are you mad at me?” the human mumbled. If not for his enhanced hearing, Peter never would’ve heard the question.

“I’m mad at you for putting yourself in harm’s way,” Peter rumbled.

“Not gonna lie, wanted you to be pack. Wanted it to be your decision though,” Stiles pleaded.

“We’ll sort it all out. Now rest,” Peter asserted and with one last, imploring look Stiles’s eyelids covered his eyes.

Peter wasn’t certain how he felt. For all intents and purposes, Stiles had urged a pack bond on him but it had been done in the literal heat of the moment while flames licked at them and Peter had agreed. He couldn’t deny the bond made him feel fantastic. He was connected, and grounded, in a way he hadn’t been for over ten years.

His wolf was happy. Stiles was happy. For now, that was enough.

-0-

Stiles fidgeted as they approached the two-story house. It wasn’t as opulent as the Hale House had been before the fire but it looked welcoming.

“Would you settle down? You’d think you were meeting your pack alpha for the first time instead of me,” Peter groused good-naturedly.

“These people are important to me. I want you to like them,” Stiles explained as he bit into his lower lip, gnawing at it.

“Isn’t it more important that they like me?” Peter questioned. 

Stiles ceased the lip gnawing and scowled. “We’re partners, a matched set if you will, and I’m already in the pack. They’ll accept you just fine.”

Peter wasn’t so certain about his welcome.

The front door opened and a dark haired young man with a slightly uneven jawline greeted them. “Stiles!” He drew the human into his arms and hugged him tightly.

Peter wanted to object to the manhandling of his pack mate but before he could peel his teeth back and growl a warning, the man let Stiles loose and turned to Peter. “And you must be Peter! I’m Scott. Welcome to the pack,” the man enthused, pumping Peter’s hand up and down in a firm shake.

This was Scott MCall,True Alpha? He seemed more a cross between one of the wholesome Mickey Mouse Club members and a cheerleader. 

Drawn into the house, Peter was quickly introduced to what he assumed was the rest of his pack.

Some shifters named Liam and Hayden, a human named Mason, and Corey who was an unidentified Super. Next came the lovely banshee, Lydia. Scott’s mother, Melissa. Stiles’s father, Noah. Two more shifters moved forward.

Peter’s nose twitched. 

Family.

“Hey, Stiles, listen up. I want you and Peter to meet the newest additions to the pack. Derek and Cora—l,” Scott began.

Peter finished the introduction, “Hale. I thought you were dead.” Bile climbed into his throat but he pushed it down. His eyes flooded with moisture.

“Uncle Peter? We watched you burn. How did you survive?” Derek launched himself into Peter’s arms. His niece, Cora, soon joined the hug filled scrum. 

Looking over the shoulders of his family, Peter met Stiles’s mystified look. “Did you know?”

Stiles shook his head. “I knew Scott had added to the pack but this is the first time I’ve heard their names.”

After the tears and the hugs and the explanations, Peter found himself on the back deck, alone with Stiles.

Worrying at his bottom lip again, Stiles folded his arms over his chest as though he didn’t know what to do with the limbs but didn’t want them to fly away. “Are you upset with me?”

Peter drew Stiles into his arms. “I was happy enough being in a pack with you. Having Derek and Cora back…it’s just the cream cheese frosting on the Red Velvet cake.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Stiles wrapped his long arms around Peter and hugged him tight. 

For the first time since he lost everything in the fire, Peter felt complete.

He had a job he loved with a partner who kept him on his toes. A partner who was the most responsive lover he’d ever been with. A pack that although was very young, was very strong. 

A family oriented pack. 

With his only surviving family.

“No, Stiles. Thank you,” Peter murmured as he nuzzled Stiles’s soft hair.

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out to be my other favorite story in addition to the Chris/Stiles story, _Silver and Ash_. I think the idea for this one came from watching many, many episodes of _the First 48_ where there are personnel dedicated to finding and bringing in people who have warrants. It seemed like a natural fit for Peter and Stiles.
> 
> In care you're wondering, I achieved blackout bingo for my hurt/comfort bingo card...that means I wrote stories for 25 prompts, all since June 15, clocking in at around 185,835 words. Phew! Thank you for going along on this magical mystery tour with me. I'm undecided if I'll participate in the next round but I still have some stories that are itching to be told.
> 
> Thank you <3


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